one day later

PW: hello is this the cute boy from the park?

PS: I AM NOT CUTE

PW: hey cutie :)

PS: I AM VIOLENT

PW: ok cutie pie

PS: -.-

PW: so what are you doing

PS: not much just being v tough and not cute

PW: well would you like to meet up at the park with me?

PS: sure

PS: like a date?

PW: I will meet you there!

I giggled to myself. Pete must have not seen my last text. I secretly hoped it would be a date, though. He seemed so nice and handsome! I picked out a blue top, a white skirt, sneakers, and a black sweater. I skipped along the pavement to the park, where I saw Pete. He was dressed in skinny jeans, a t-shirt, and boots. Excited, I ran up to him and hugged him tightly. "Fucking faggots," a boy named Victor muttered under his breath. "Fuck off, dick," I responded, causing Victor to run away screaming, "A DICK IS WHAT YOU'LL BE SUCKIN TONIGHT, AMIRITE?" Ignoring this, Pete and I sat on the bench with a notepad and pencil I brought. I inched closer to Pete, leaning my head on his shoulder as he wrote.

What do you like to do?

I grinned up at him. "Well, I like to play guitar and sing," I explained. He made a singing motion. "Oh, would you like me to sing for you?" Pete nodded. I started to sing I Write Sins Not Tradgedies, by Panic! At the Disco. He stared at me in awe and clapped when I was done. We spent some more time talking about our interests and hobbies. Pete was 16, a year older than me and loved to write poetry and play bass. After talking for some time, Pete had to go. I galloped home with a plan: I would ask Pete to go out with me officially in sign language.